Pretty, Popular and Partnered
by FallenStar22
Summary: "Every girl wants to be pretty, popular and partnered." Based off How To Be Popular by Meg Cabot, the story follows Poppy, a young girl in a situation similar to Steph's who gets personal advice from the mentor herself. Rewritten as of 06-Sept-2013
1. Steph

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

**06/09/2013 AN: Oh dear, this was bad. I've edited the whole story and will be uploading it again. Thanks to all the people who have reviewed and given me support through the first draft. It's not going to be fantastically written which rich descriptions, but I felt like the story needed sorting out and I wasn't happy to leave it in first and third person. It's not going to be much longer than it is now, perhaps 15k so it's still a short story.**

Pretty, Popular and Partnered

"_Every girl wants to be pretty, popular and partnered."_

1. Steph

I, Poppy Lake, need help.

I seem incapable of functioning like a normal teenage girl; I'm not pretty, popular and I've never so much as held a boy's hand let alone had a boyfriend. Wherever girls learn how to do this stuff, I need to find out. Do they have some secret society or something where they discover these skills? I'm _thirteen_ and I hardly know how make friends.

Funnily enough, that's almost the least of my worries. My hair has not grown at all in the last two months and the little hair I have is frizzy and dull. I can't wake up without it looking like a puffball and my attempts to grow it out have failed. The flakes of dry skin on my legs were bugging me so I tried to scrap them off but they were everywhere and rubbing my hand up and down my shin only revealed I needed to shave my legs. At some point, my thighs and tummy had expanded without me noticing (although how I missed that I don't know) and now I looked like an elephant. Unfortunately, my ears support this look by being perpendicular to my head.

I pulled my trousers back down and caught sight of at least another ten spots emerging on my forehead, chin and neck. I've tried squeezing them, putting toothpaste on them and even skipping chocolate for two weeks, but spots remain stubbornly there whatever I do. Why does my body feel the need to punish me so much?

I threw myself on my bed so I wouldn't have to look at my horrible, imperfect face in the mirror any more. "Urgh," I moaned into the covers. There was a lot going wrong in my life:

My face is hideous;

I'm fat;

None of the clothes I own are remotely stylish;

I have never been asked out;

The most popular girl at school hates me;

And I fancy her boyfriend.

"Poppy, Poppy!" my mum's bellowing tones echoed from downstairs. "She's here."

She: the pretty American girl who already had a boyfriend and was well settled in life. Well that's how she seemed when she spoke to me on webcam. Steph Landry was coming to England for university and needed a place to stay so Mum offered, having been rid of my playboy brother for a year already. She said that it was lonely in the house and it would be good for me to get some teenage company, although at nineteen, Steph was hardly a teenager anymore.

My brother had everything he wanted. He was the model student; captain of the football team, rugby team, cricket team, korfball team, the list was endless. Amidst all of that, he still managed to keep up a busy social life, going out with his friends pretty much every weekend.

No one knew we were brother and sister at school, I don't think there was anyone who actually knew both of us, besides family and teachers. We operated in such different social circles at school - well he did, I didn't really have much of a social circle in the first place. I was kind of the loner, the tagalong. The one who got bullied for not wearing makeup and wearing brightly coloured ribbons in her hair.

"Poppy! Come down this instant and help bring Steph's stuff in!" shouted Mum from downstairs. I could hear the strain in her voice as she tried to shout politely at me in front of our guest. At least she wouldn't be able to tell me off so much now that Steph was here, she'd never embarrass herself like that. I dragged myself out of bed and bounded down the stairs two at a time, before my mum came up here and dragged me down herself. I wasn't really in the mood to meet anyone new, especially as they say people's first impressions of you are formed within ninety seconds of meeting you, but I didn't have a choice. I had been warned about this ages ago.

Even though everyone says never judge a book by its cover, I did it anyway because everyone did it even if they said they didn't. Steph was different in person. She had body and luggage and she was a whole person rather than just a face on my computer. She _smiled_ when she saw me and ignoring my undignified arrival, said cheerfully, "Hi, I'm Steph." She was still smiling.

My mouth was slightly open in shock and I hurried to reply before she thought I was mentally disabled, "Um hi, Poppy Lake." My hand automatically shot out at the introduction but I pulled it away when I realised you probably didn't shake hands with a lady. I'd only ever shook hands with my dad's male boss when he came over for dinner.

Steph laughed at seeing my hand move forward and backward slightly and I panicked slightly, afraid I had committed a social faux pas, but she smiled dismissively and said, "Never mind, it's not something I do either."

I breathed a mental sigh of relief.

I did as my mum bid and led Steph up to her room. She would be staying in my brother's room, unfortunately for her. I pushed the door open embarrassed about the smell of boy, but thankfully Mum had cleaned it and the air was fresh with fragrance. "Uh, this is Jamie's room," I described, waving my hand around the room. "He's gone to uni, doing a doctorate so he'll be gone a while. Don't worry about him coming to stay - he doesn't. If you need me, my room's next door. Ciao."

I escaped before Steph could say anything else. That was enough social interaction for one go.

-PL-

It was later in the when I spoke to Steph again. She knocked quietly on my door and opened it a crack. Peering in she whispered, "Is it okay to come in?"

"Yeah sure," I said, moving over so she would have space to sit on my bed. Once I had got over the initial adrenaline of meeting her in person, I was fine.

"Your room's nice," she commented looking round. That's something all people to say nice, my room was a mess. I don't think she had anything to say because she was still looking around my room for something to talk about. "Is that your boyfriend? He's cute," she asked, eyes catching a photo from a family skiing trip to Austria.

"Um no, that's my brother." I replied uncomfortably, not because she called my brother cute, I was used to that, but because no thirteen year old I knew had still not had a boyfriend. I had never been asked out, and the one boy who I'd got the courage to ask out humiliated me in front of the entire school. Not an experience I would like to repeat. Life lesson learnt: never ask someone out in a public location where lots of people you know might suddenly appear. Basically, don't do it in school.

Steph looked uncomfortable as she sat down on my bed, horrified by her misunderstanding.

"It's cool don't worry about it," I tried to pull off a breezy laugh to make her feel more comfortable but it didn't quite work and came out slightly flat. There was a long awkward pause. "It happens all the time, we look nothing alike." I had inherited none of his good looks. Or maybe I had and they just looked good on boys.

"Still, that must be awkward right?" asked Steph.

"Well," I debated telling this grown up woman my secret teenage troubles. "It's more because they can't believe someone as good looking as Jamie would ever pick someone as ugly as me."

"Oh." She summed it up in one word. It was there in her face. When someone doesn't immediately start offering you compliments after you say something like that you know you're a lost cause. I should be used to it by now but tears still pricked at my eyes. I couldn't sit under Steph's gaze so I began rearranging ornaments on my windowsill.

She carried on scrutinising me; I could feel her gaze on my back. "I've been there. I know how to help. One sec." She ran into her room – well Jamie's room, but her room now - and after a few minutes of searching in suitcases, came back in with a tattered book. "Check this out," she said tossing the book to me. "But don't take it too seriously, trust me. I know from experience."

I still hadn't turned around and Steph must have gathered she upset me as she quietly closed the door and left. I couldn't look at the book, not yet.


	2. Makeover

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

**06/09/2013 AN: Oh dear, this was bad. I've edited the whole story and will be uploading it again. Thanks to all the people who have reviewed and given me support through the first draft. I know there are major flaws in this story still, but I had to edit the first/third person issue and I don't have the time to rewrite it completely. It's not going to be much longer than it is now, perhaps 15k so it's still a short story.**

2. Makeover

The book looked fairly ordinary if not a little battered and old, but I knew not to judge _actual_ books by their covers. _How To Be Popular. _What was it about me that just screamed unpopular to everyone who seemed to see me, including someone who had come from America? It was as if I had stuck a label back to front on my head with UNPOPULAR written on it. Did Jamie secretly tattoo it to my head in ink only I couldn't see?

I passed the book between my hands, flipping it backwards and forwards but never actually opening it. It wasn't the first time I had read articles about becoming popular, I had ransacked the internet but they'd all been the same drivel about being outgoing yet not being forceful and having your own 'style' whatever that meant. I was completely different to everyone else at school and they hated me.

Despite my misgivings about what might be in the book, I succumbed to the temptation anyway because I still had the desperate need in me to become popular and if Steph had given it to me, it might different. My hopes were already raised as I opened the book even though I knew I should squash them before I ended up even more disappointed. I guessed the flowery border was supposed to make the reader feel like this was a dream, but I just thought it looked out of place and stupid. Popularity was not measured in flowers. At least the writing style wasn't flowery so it was as clear and easy to follow. _**People are naturally drawn to leaders, and leaders are those who have confidence in themselves.**_Simple. Not. Easy to say but hard to implement. Nevertheless, I was a sucker for self-help guides and makeup tutorials so I carried on reading anyway.

I had already read three quarters book before I looked at the clock; I swore, two hours had already gone by without me realising, how had it taken that long to read only that much? I groaned as a noted the pile of books I had laid on my laptop the night before, knowing I would have to get past them before getting to go on the internet. I wondered how long it would take to actually start on my first piece of homework. Three hours maybe? I decided to ask Steph a few questions to avoid my homework as long as possible.

I looked in Jamie's room first but she wasn't there. I carried on searching in the lounge and then the kitchen to see if she had come to get something to eat, but I still couldn't find her. "Mum!" I shouted, abandoning my fruitless search. "Mum, have you seen Steph?"

My mum called back from somewhere unknown, "She's gone out. Make your lunch before it gets too late."

I sighed in frustration and stalked over to the kitchen with the intention of making a sandwich and not staying downstairs any longer than necessary. The Book had advised on eating healthily so I substituted my usual chocolate spread for some jam instead and grabbed an apple to accompany it. It had also said that many popular people did well in school, so I made a resolution to complete my homework before Steph came home.

I stuck true to my promise and managed to get though one and a half pieces before Steph came home carrying many carrier bags. My first thought was that she had gone grocery shopping but when she emptied the contents of those bags on my bed I could see that wasn't true. There, lying on my bed were more beauty products than I could ever imagine.

Cleansers, body creams, mascara, eyeliner, self-tan, foundation, conditioner, I thought it wouldn't end. It was almost as if Steph had been through everything I would need without me even reading the book. She took me through each and every product explaining how I should use them and how often. Thankfully we had discarded most of them due to them not being appropriate for my skin/hair type. Despite our round of elimination, it still left more than would be desired.

"Steph, how did you get all this stuff?" I questioned trying not to attack the point directly. It wouldn't be fair for Steph to pay for all this gloop when she hardly had any money of her own. I'd heard all about how broke students were when they started university over the dinner table.

"Store discount, don't worry about it; count it as a moving in present. And as to how I knew what to get, I have a friend called Jen Greenley back in America. She's good at this kinda stuff. You know, makeovers and that. She also said you can drop her an email any time you want, she used to be the agony aunt at her old school so she's good at solving problems. I would say I would help but I'm not particularly good at that. So, wanna get started?"

The next three hours was spent pampering, plucking, waxing, cutting, conditioning, and moisturising every part of my body Steph could reach. (Well every part I could reach; she still sort of was a stranger to me.) When I finally came out the shower with glossy blond waves I was pretty pleased with myself. Waves looked nicer than the stick straight hair I had previously been trying to achieve. The ends always stuck out for some reason; maybe because I wasn't doing it right.

"Poppy are you ready yet?!" shouted Steph from the other room. She came into the bathroom with a rather large pair of scissors and started combing through the tangles in my hair (notably reduced by detangling shampoo). The comb felt weird being moved across my head by someone else, and I could swear she wasn't moving it in the right places. A twist of hair appeared in my eye line and I had a funny feeling why Steph had brought in those scissors. Snip, snip, snip. It didn't sound as bad as I thought it would.

When I was finally allowed to look up all I could see was the mass of hair in the sink in front of me. Mum was going to kill me. Steph thought my gasp was for the wrong reasons, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I should have asked you first, I got so carried away, I'm really sorry Poppy." I looked up properly and felt the short strands around my face. They felt so soft I couldn't help running my fingers through it many times. It hadn't quite dried yet but I could already see curls forming under my fingers. "It's... cute." I stated, trying to find the right word to describe it. Yes, cute was the right word.

"You're okay with it?" She sounded surprised. I didn't blame her; so was I. I didn't want to lie to her but I was still too shocked to think of a fake compliment. "It'll grow on me."

Steph inhaled loudly and then we both burst into laughter at my unintended pun to break the tension.

"I'm not finished yet; don't think you've got away with it." She grabbed a towel and shoved it over my head, viciously towelling my wet hair. After the pummelling, I saw, through my half dry strands of hair covering my face, her grab something that looked like mousse. Steph scrunched my hair with the foam introducing yet another fragrance to my hair. After that it was makeup time and a serious lesson on the application of it. According to Steph, wearing as little makeup as possible was the way to go, however, it was harder than it appeared for her to apply it on my face. She almost ended up poking me in the eye with the mascara stick and it was only the timely turn of my face that prevented me from losing my left eye. Once again Steph burst into a stream of apologies and hastened to scrub the black mark from my face. The second time, she was much more careful.

Finally, I was allowed to look in the mirror. Okay, I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. I mean I still looked the same. The same boring old Poppy Lake in the same dressing gown she had owned for years. True, my skin looked amazing, my hair was better than it ever had been but the spots were still there and I hadn't turned into a model, which had been my secret desire. Steph came round to inspect my face, frowning strangely as she did so. She pondered for half a minute, "Did you read the entire book?"

"Not all of it," I answered truthfully.

"I think you need to talk to Jen, I'll leave you her email."

"Why?" I asked, curious of what Steph had concluded.

"Your makeover's not complete without confidence." She left me baffled as she strode out the door.


	3. Dear Jen

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

Dear Jen...

People always say that if things are going wrong then to talk to someone about it, like a friend or a 'trusted adult'.

What if what's going wrong is that you don't _have_ any friends, ever thought of that? And who is a 'trusted adult' anyway? My mum would just tell me that she loves me and to act more like Jamie and my dad would ruffle my hair and tell me to not grow up and just be myself, but I didn't know who myself was. I didn't want to be the Poppy Lake who had horrible clothes and no friends. I wanted to be pretty and popular and to have a boyfriend. I wanted people to stare at me as I walked down the corridor in amazement at my long shiny blonde hair. I wanted people to come up to me in the mornings and say hi and be happy to see me and text me and fight to sit next to me.

What really happened was people would shove past me on the way to their lockers and act like I didn't exist. If people spoke to me it was to ask me for something and they looked surprised to hear I had a voice when they did.

That's what you got when the most popular girl in the year didn't like you, nobody else would like you either in fear of being branded a loser. The worse thing was, this was _before _the Incident with Heather, this was a different popular girl, they all didn't like me. I didn't even have a clue as to why Angelina didn't like me. I hadn't done anything to her, we'd barely spoken. We weren't even in the same class. I hadn't tried to steal her boyfriend, I didn't take her place on the girls football team (because I was so unfit I wouldn't be able to run the length of the pitch), I wasn't really clever or anything. I couldn't work out why she didn't like me.

One time, we had switched classes around for an activity day and I was left to sit at her table because I had no one else to sit with. This happened a lot and I was used to sitting with strangers, but this time, they actually started talking to me, first about the work and then about other things. Angelina had asked in a really strange and snobbish tone if I'd ever kissed a boy. She said it as if she was just being curious but there was a malicious look in her eyes. Tentatively, I said no, of course. I'd never kissed a boy and I was young and saw no benefit to lying. They all laughed at me in high pitched giggles and kept sharing looks that meant something to them and nothing to me and I've always been on the outskirts of every group I've been in.

I still sort of had friends afterwards, that wasn't the Incident, but it made me feel the worst I had ever felt about myself. We were only eleven and so young, and even though I see now that they were silly, foolish girls who acted as if they were so much more mature me, their taunting laughs still cut deep. It didn't need to be words, it could be the secrets other people kept to themselves and didn't tell you, that hurt even if they were stupid secrets.

I felt better then when I spoke to my parents about it, but I wasn't eleven anymore and I couldn't go running to my parents when I felt low. But that didn't mean I didn't have anyone to tell.

My emails were pulled up in seconds before I lost my nerve and I typed in the address Steph had given me. I was really going to do this.

_Dear Jen,_

_Steph told me to write to you, she's staying at my house in England and she's kind of taken me under her wing. She's told me a bit about you and how you used to be an agony aunt in your old school. That's why I'm writing this to you now. I wouldn't write it otherwise. You must be used to crazy teenagers writing to you like this right? Oh, and thanks for the advice on the makeover, Steph did a great job. She said you helped her too when she wasn't sure of who she was. So I was wondering... would you help me?_

_Okay so just to fill you in on the details: my name is Poppy Lake, I'm 13 years old, in Year 9 (I have no idea what that is in American grades sorry). I am not very attractive, (more so now than before thanks to yours and Steph's help), I now have fairly short blond curly hair, I'm quite large and I have a very bad taste in clothing. Oh, and I've never had a boyfriend, nobody wants to be friends with me, even the social rejects have got bored of me. I've kind of befriended my computer ever since joining high school two and a half years ago, life is hell at the moment. I've just started my GCSEs and I never realised how much time and effort it would take. I've never really had a social life, but I still don't have any time to do anything I love._

_Sorry went off in a bit of a ramble there. Steph said I look great after the makeover but I don't feel like that's going to make a difference to anyone. I don't care about the way I look so why would anyone else? She said I needed a lesson in confidence, and that you could help with that. I'm confident writing this behind a computer screen, but I don't know if I could ever tell anyone about this kind of stuff to their face. Same for normal stuff. I can't talk to people easily. They tell me I'm being too shy, but then when I talk they say I'm loud and aggressive. There is no way to find the right balance. _

_I would love to be part of the popular crowd, not the 'cool' people, but the ones that everyone loves for who they are. I also have a tiny crush on the most popular boy in the year. Okay a huge crush. I don't know what to do about it. On teenage blogs they say to do 'eye magnet' but he's too tall for me to catch his eye. Please help. I want him to know me for who I am. But then I also need help finding her. _

_Thanks for listening to my extremely boring problems. I'll understand if you don't reply. I'm used to it._

_**Poppy Lake**_

I clicked send before my conscious started calling me foolish. Jen was someone who lived on the other side of the world. She would probably never read it anyway.


	4. Just a Casual Conversation

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

Just a Causal Conversation

Jen studied the email, surprised that Poppy would write so soon after Steph mentioning it. It certainly had that teenage confusion in it, she could guarantee that. She sighed, wondering if things were different in England. It was easy enough answering questions when you knew all about the situation of their daily lives and it had been a while since she had written any advice letters. Maybe it was time to ask Steph.

"Hey Steph," Jen stared at the computer hoping Skype was working – it hardly ever did. International calls were far too expensive when you had technology at your fingertips.

"Jen!" Steph's voice sang with delight as the video loaded. "How nice of you to call, it's nice to hear from someone other than my parents."

The picture had finally loaded and they could both see each other, finally.

"You seem happy in England, is everything going well?" Jen asked.

"Yes definitely." Steph responded enthusiastically, "The course I'm on is great and I'm lucky I've found such lovely people to stay with." Renting in London was a nightmarishly expensive and seeing as fees for international students cost so much, staying with the Lakes saved money Steph didn't even have to spend. There was only so much she could borrow from her granddad.

Jen was glad she had brought up her new family; it would make it more a casual conversation than just calling for a talk about Poppy. That email she had sent was relatively mature, yet she didn't seem socially confident. Jen was used to that with the amount of socially unsure people she had helped. One more wasn't much for her but it would make the world to them.

"That's great for you Steph." Jen hesitated but carried on, "How's Poppy? She wrote me an email so I just wondered how things are for her." It wasn't that Jen had forgotten what it was like to be young when your biggest problems were the spots on your face, but England, although similar to America, had a different culture and attitude and Jen wasn't familiar with it.

Steph looked around Jamie's (now) spotless room for any clues on how they might live their lives, but it offered no help on the situation. She decided on prowling around Poppy's room instead. She opened the door slowly even though she knew Poppy would be at school. At first glance, everything seemed normal enough. There was a stack of school books on top of her laptop and a few CDs piled on her desk, as you might expect. When Steph moved closer into the room, the glare on the posters had disappeared and she could see their contents more clearly. The walls were littered with pictures of young pretty skinny things, most probably from glamour magazines. Despite not following the fashion and wearing makeup she sure enjoyed looking at it. Steph even found a few books about makeup application and wondered why Poppy hadn't mentioned them during the makeover.

Poppy only had one picture of herself in her room – it was the one from the family skiing trip. All the other photographs were of friends; Steph didn't know whether she could call them friends because Poppy never appeared in them.

Feeling like she had intruded into Poppy's life too much, Steph returned to her call with Jen. "Nothing seems too out of place with the family, but I think Poppy has self-esteem issues. Her wall is coated with posters of thin, pretty girls. And I think something's up with her friends. Or maybe lack of proper friends? She seems normal on the surface but something is definitely up." explained Steph.

Jen contemplated Poppy's situation. It was normal for teenagers to line their walls with celebrities, but it didn't seem to match Poppy's lifestyle. She seemed more a hardworking and genuine girl rather than a follower of celebrity culture. And a lack of friends would explain why she was unhappy. "I think you need to work on her self-esteem issues first, start by getting rid of all those ridiculous posters. And help her feel more confident with the way she looks, maybe go shopping with her and help her pick some clothes? Don't teach her to follow the fashion, just stuff she looks good in, that will boost her confidence. And you should get out too, check out the style over there," Jen joked to get rid of the seriousness of the conversation.

"Yeah I'll pick up something for you too while I'm her," Steph joked, rolling her eyes. "You do know I have work to do as well as all this shopping you're making me do!" The travelling took a lot of time out of her hands but it was just too expensive to stay on campus. "And I'm broke, so I can't buy anything. The woes of being a student." Steph did her best sad face.

Jen just shook her head but she was grinning as she did so. "I was a student as well you know. Wait until you get an actual job, that's when the fun ends." Being an agony aunt proved surprisingly good training for becoming a psychologist. "Keep up the good work with Poppy though, I think you'll get through to her. I've got to now, speak soon Steph."

"No problem, nice talking to you again." They blew each other air kisses and with a wave, Jen disconnected the call.

Steph stared at Jen's frozen face for a few seconds before it disappeared, happier now that she had spoken to Jen about Poppy, but feeling homesick. She missed her friends and she missed Jason and her family and being at home where she understood everything. University was one thing and moving to a foreign country was an even bigger thing. Now she was here she'd just have to suck it and get through it.

On the bright side, at least now she knew what she needed to do to help Poppy. Jen was always great at giving advice. Well at least when it came to people, not when it came to doing university work. That help Steph could only get from her very very boring textbooks.


	5. First Days All Over Again

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

First Days All Over Again

I felt like a goldfish going to live in the sea by myself after living my life in a standard issue fish bowl. I had no idea what to do, how to act, what to say. I may have looked different on the outside but I was still the same insecure, tongue-tied Poppy Lake on the inside. Whoever said change happened over night clearly didn't know what they are talking about. I may have looked decent but my personality was exactly the same.

Walking into school felt like first days all over again. My palms were sweaty, my shoes seemed unnaturally loud as I walked though the corridor and even walking became something I had to focus on. I was ever so conscious of the layer of makeup that had been delicately applied that morning. Steph promised to do it for me before she went to university so at least I didn't feel like I was wearing face paint.

I was so nervous I almost walked past my locker and my keys fumbled in my hand as I tried place the correct one in the lock. My bag seemed heavier just from the makeup it contained and I was still acutely aware of it on my face. I hurried to registration eager for this day to be finished before it had even properly started. I knew I was being irrational when it seemed like everyone turned to look at me but all I could feel were eyes raking all over me analysing whether I was for real or not. And apparently, I was; I was included into the conversation a little more and was even asked to join people for lunch. And these were the people who mocked me for looking different and pretended to be my friends. I acted cool but I kept quiet in fear of ruining my collected state.

I tried to concentrate in my first class but I was overly aware of everything going on around me: the position of the bin from the door, the girl behind me's perfume, how much gel Nigel had in his hair. I noticed we had a new boy in our class, sitting on the table directly across from me on the other side of the room. I had no idea how long he had been here; how much had I missed while I lived in social exclusion? Not that the conversation this morning seemed interesting. Something about what so and so did and some pretty girl's party. I used to go to parties with them before and I used to hold all their bags while they chatted and flirted and threw themselves over all the boys they saw.

But of course everything is different now. After the Incident. It was the annual school mufti day and I was excited but nervous about showing off the new outfit the girls had made me buy that weekend. It took an extremely long time to shop for everyone and the only reason I came was because I got to spend time with Heather – time that had been ever decreasing. My ex-best friend was popular then and even more popular now thanks to her dazzling teeth – specially paid for orthotics – and glossy blond hair which made her the delight of everybody, especially him: Tom.

He was just as popular as Heather and together they made the perfect couple. His continuously tousled hair and award-winning smile still overwhelmed me in my day dreams. I couldn't stop thinking about him, it was as if he had stuck a pin through my voodoo doll's head. Even if I tried to stop thinking about him I would still routinely change my way to lessons just so I catch a glimpse of his perfect features amidst the crowded corridor.

I might have been able to have a slight chance of talking to him if I had stayed friends with Heather and the popular lot. But after the Incident she stopped talking to me and everyone stayed away from me as if my freakishness was contagious. Mufti day fell on the same say as Art and I was trying to express my creative talent by doing something different. I didn't do anything too weird but I guess it's what the effect is. I had watered down some acrylic paint and was in the process of covering my piece of paper in rather funky looking paint splodges when I heard a scream from behind me. It seemed that I had been a little too 'overenthusiastic' with the paintbrush, as the teacher put it, and Heather's new (and horrendously expensive) clothes had been flicked with splatters of red paint. It didn't matter that I was her best friend, it didn't matter that I had profusely apologised hundreds of times. I even offered to buy her a new outfit but she wouldn't take it. As far as she was concerned, I had just ruined the best day in the year for her. And she would never let me live it down.

I spent most of the rest of that year in the library eating my lunch and laying low. If I tried to go into the cafe I often got ketchup lobbed at me – the substitute red paint. It never was Heather but she gained enough popularity that she got others to bully me for her. I'm not sure which hurt more, the attacks or the fact that it was all because of Heather. I guess I had myself to blame as well. I decided after then that expressing my creativity wasn't such a good idea. I started to dress like everyone else, act like everyone else, I became a passive observer of the crowd. After they saw I was no harm some of them allowed me to hang around with them mainly so I could run around after them, getting them what they wanted and carrying bags. Solitude was better than being treated like a pack dog. So I drifted off on my own.

That was why I had never noticed that we had a new boy in our class. Sure the girls probably talked about him but there wasn't much special in the way he looked so I guess they couldn't have been bothered with him for long. He looked like he was concentrating hard on something that was further than what was on the white board as his face had been screwed up in concentration for quite some time now. His school diary was not graffitied like all the other students but was thick like it contained lots of paper. I wonder what he wrote in it.

Suddenly the classroom was abuzz with action as everyone stood up ready to go to lunch. It felt like the whole week had passed by in an hour and it was time to go home already. I quickly realised that if I stared at him too long people would think I was weirder than I already was, so I packed up and walked towards my usual spot in the library, absorbed in what interesting things could be in his diary. He could be a secret agent planning a school break out; he could be a musician writing songs. As I dreamed his features changed into the face of Tom Hathaway, a face I had spent many times fantasying about. Not concentrating on where I was going, I almost tripped and bumped into the first boy occupying my head. I was too surprised to say anything and he seemed to be just as tongue-tied. Simultaneously, we both stepped away trying to break the awkward moment we had both created. I turned to watch him leave but not before seeing that door he had just left was the door for the library.


	6. Confidence

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

Confidence

When I got home Steph wasn't back from university yet. I sat on my bed swinging my feet, wanting to take off my makeup but unsure whether water would work or if I had to use some special makeup remover. It was only Monday so I didn't have any homework yet and the only thing I felt inclined to do was read the little pink book resting on my desk. I opened the book to the page I had finished last time and started reading...

Five hours later I had finished How To Be Popular, several other articles on the internet and eaten dinner. I finally understood what Steph meant about confidence. It wasn't about the way you looked, it was about the way you acted. I had taken the opportunity to examine the 'popular' crowd after I had recovered from my daze. I was more self-conscious than usual and I was monitoring their behaviour to see how I should act. They weren't necessarily pretty; they just all wore make up and acted in a similar way. They were just another group of friends, just like the one I used to belong to. And it was the same for the unpopular people; some of them were pretty but were they popular? No; because they didn't try to be popular. Or maybe it's because they didn't have the book.

I usually spent my evening doing nothing on my laptop or completely personality quizzes to confirm my loneliness. Somehow I had never quite fully reached the parameter of every quiz website. There must be people with more time on their hands than me to create these unfulfilling tests. At least that made me feel a little better.

I changed my mind today. Instead of following the standard routine of self worthlessness I took an early shower, feeling inspired by reading the Book. The hot water felt soothing as it cascaded down my back and I closed my eyes to relax. The whole thing with confidence had helped me a lot. I no longer felt unimportant because I wasn't pretty, that didn't matter anymore. When Steph first told me I had to be confident I had no clue what she meant, but now after reading the Book, I understood what I had to do. Smile, ask questions and most importantly, be comfortable with who you are, because if you're not, no one else will be.

I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my dripping hair. The bottle of moisturiser Steph had left on my desk looked abandoned so I decided to use it. After I was all pampered up and in my pyjamas, I sat down cross legged in front of the mirror. My new blond mop was mainly dry as I teased it between my fingers. I scraped it back from my face and examined my bone structure in the mirror. My face looked fairly oval – the easiest face shape to work with. As I played about with my hair I noticed I looked more open when it was pushed up and away. Maybe that's what I'd do tomorrow; I did want to look more friendly after all.

I sneaked into Jamie's old room and located his guitar hidden in his cupboard. It was his old one so it didn't matter too much if I used it. I used to play it a lot secretly when I was feeling down. Jamie was always out so he never noticed if I took it or had time to teach me. Sometimes I wish he did teach me so I would have more in common with him, but he didn't.

Sitting on my bed with the guitar balanced on my knee, I searched for a tab on my laptop. Playing the guitar was oddly therapeutic. Music generally helped me. It was the only thing I could really relate to. It wasn't just the lyrics, it was also the way music could fill you up and distract your attention from all the other things going on in the world. It was about escaping.

When Steph finally returned that night it was half past eleven. I could faintly hear Mum yelling at Steph as she used to shout at Jamie when he came home late. My mum always liked Jamie more than me. He was cleverer than me, prettier, more popular, everything she could ever want. He always had a pretty girl around and went out with friends despite being constantly involved in numerous sports. As far as my mum was concerned, Jamie was perfect. And now it was up to me to fill his place (which I could never live up to). I could never be the outgoing sportsman he was. At least no one knew we were siblings at school so teachers didn't pressure me into 'following his footsteps'. That was until I got home or a teacher looked at me funnily when they read out my surname. It seemed the life of pressure would never end.


	7. Friendly Faces

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

**AN: This gets worse and worse as I read it, but now I've committed to editing it, I'll finish it. It's full of clichés that I thought were okay when I was about fifteen, and now I realise how awful they are, but stick with me, I promise the ending isn't at all cliché. **

Friendly Faces

"I hate maths," I declared, throwing my head on the table in hope it would help clear the confusion caused by vectors. It didn't work; my headache only worsened and low groan escaped from my mouth as my head collided with the table. "It used to be so easy!" I exclaimed.

"Here, let me help you." It was a stranger's voice, so kind I must have imagined it. Nobody had ever said that to me before, hardly anyone would even look my way if I said anything.

But no, when I looked up, there was indeed a person there, patiently waiting for my response. It seemed like the new boy hadn't got the memo that Poppy Lake was not someone you talk to. He asked again, "Do you need help?"

Maybe I didn't have the word 'unpopular' written on her head after all. Or maybe he was just an alien from another planet. His ears were a bit large but then they weren't larger than Eddie's so unless Eddie was an alien too that wouldn't make sense.

He was still looking blankly at me, probably wondering what a weirdo I was to keep staring at him, so I quickly morphed my curious frown into a smile and said, "Please."

I thought I had blown it when he didn't say anything, but then he shook his head and started his explanation. "I always think of it like you're drawing a face. A vector is the distance from this feature to another and the different distances are represented by different letters. If it's double or triple or however many times that length then you put the number of times in front of the letter. That's called a multiple vector. Now if you were drawing in a mirror, the vector would be going the opposite way so it's a negative vector, because it's the same, but the opposite. Do you get it?"

This caused me to stare at him even more. _He liked drawing? _"Yeah I totally understand it now," I lied. It only made a tiny bit more sense but I wanted him to feel like it really had helped because the explanation was good, my maths abilities were just awful. "The drawing analogy really helped because it was something I could relate to. I guess you draw a lot?" I secretly hoped that his answer would be yes, because even though that would make him unattainably perfect, it would be so sweet.

"Yeah I draw quite a lot." He looked rather sheepish as he replied and rubbed the back of his head. "I know it's quite girly but I still enjoy it." I didn't think it was girly at all but he still looked a bit uncomfortable with revealing his secret to me. I could nod and act like I understood him on a deep level or shake my head and perhaps boost his manliness, but I couldn't decide, so my head made some circular motion and I looked like I was doing sign language to a fish.

"Don't worry about me telling anyone. I don't exactly have anyone to tell." A secret in exchange for a secret.

He must have not realised I was serious, because he replied jokingly, "Well neither do I, but I hope I have one." If he was Tom, he would have winked, but he wasn't so he just blushed nervously at me and lowered his eyes.

"Oh, oh, of course!" Nothing could have pleased me more. I smiled in response at him gratefully. My first proper friend.

The rest of the class started packing up around us and we quickly joined in, finally able to escape from tortuous maths. "So where do you go to eat lunch then?" asked Lucas.

"Um." I looked at my feet not wanting to admit to my new friend that my lack of social standing usually meant I ate on my own. He might hightail it away from me if I told him and I didn't want to lose him just yet. "Just follow me," I decided on.

Leading him to the library after visiting both of our lockers, I sat down at an empty table near the back and started to eat, unable to look Lucas in the eye. The library was always quiet, but it seemed quieter today with company that didn't speak. I wanted to say something but if we starting talking then eventually he'd ask why we were in here rather than the cafeteria.

We continued in silence for another few minutes before Lucas asked the question I had been dreading. "So why are we eating lunch in here?"

I blushed red and mumbled something about not being popular, hoping he'd drop the subject when he realised I didn't want to talk about it. Seeing the still expectant look on his face I felt obliged to recount The Incident, and thankfully, as I began, Lucas didn't laugh or dismiss it, he just listened.

"...And I prefer the library anyway." I finished. It felt so good just to _talk_ to someone about it, without the fear that they'd laugh at me. Maybe it was because he helped me earlier and I felt like I owed it to him, or maybe it was Steph rubbing off on me with her talks of confidence. Whatever it was, my voice only shook four times and I didn't run off crying half way through, so I thought I did pretty well.

From his silence I started worrying but he seemed to be thinking of something to say, so I took a deep breath and counted to forty-seven until he spoke. "If we're exchanging horror stories," he gave a little laugh, "I moved schools because my parents divorced and I was really unhappy at my old school. So for the record, the library is a good place."

I figured he'd say more, but he didn't elaborate and took another bite of his sandwich, effectively ending the conversation. I wasn't sure what to say next but lunch had to be eaten, so I followed Lucas' example and finished my own.

Just as we were about to get up, Lucas blurted out, "So can I have your email?"

One conversation and he already wanted to be friends outside of school, this was a good day. "Sure," I replied with a big grin on my face and wrote it on a scrap of paper he had pulled from his diary. It had a tiny scribble on the back, as did the one he gave me. I had a tiny bit of his secret clutched in my hand.


	8. New Relationships

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

New Relationships

After school I developed my relationship with Lucas; we went over to each other's houses, hung outside or IMed each other. It was scary how much we had common, we read the same mangas, watched the same animes and even liked the same artists. It was kind of scary, as if I had been wishing for a perfect boy and he arrived.

At school, however, was a different story. While Lucas had laughed through my fears of being unpopular, he was very serious when I told him about my plan to become popular. He didn't say anything, not then, or afterwards, but he stopped replying after the fourth text and long silences that didn't occur before kept appearing in our conversations.

"Why aren't you talking to me?" I snapped at him, more accusing than I had intended, but his slight rejections of me were taking their toll. Every time I had to restart a conversation, I felt like he didn't want to talk to me.

He didn't even look up when he replied, "I'm not."

I put my hand on my hip and twisted my head to try and get his attention, but he was resolutely staring at his book. "Not talking to me or not not talking to me?"

He finally looked up, but he sounded annoyed and not at all friendly like he had before. "The second one, stop being so annoying and appreciate that I'm your friend, I'm not just going to stop talking to you."

"But you're not talking to me now," I pressed.

"Because I'm busy, I can't talk to you all the time."

"I thought friends were always supposed to be there for each other?" I said in a small voice.

"Go and talk to another friend then." He had gone back to looking at his book.

Did he not understand my social standing? I thought of all people he would understand because he'd been in the same position. "I don't have any friends, that's why I have to be popular."

"Go and fulfil your dream of being popular then." He didn't even look at me.

That day was the worst. I put on a fake smile and spoke to as many people as possible. I learnt new names, made an effort to be friendly but I didn't feel any better. I felt detached from everything that was going on around me. I was putting in the effort, but no one came up to me to say hello. Sure, they would respond now when I said something, rather than just looking at me as if I was revolting and then moving away, but it wasn't as satisfying. I wanted someone to talk to me without judging me first, as Lucas had.

When I got home I stripped myself of all the makeup I was wearing, dressed in comfortable clothes and lay facing the ceiling on my bed. The day hadn't been all bad. I had to admit, after getting over the worry they might think you're strange, it was quite nice having a simple conversation with someone you hadn't really spoken to before. It wasn't the same as talking to Lucas, but it was a change, and change was sometimes nice.

I got up to check my phone if he had sent any messages but there were none. While I put my school bag away and got out my laptop, I kept rechecking to see if I had just missed his text, but there wasn't one. There were no emails from him either. I slumped back on too my bed, wondering how I became into the state within such a short time. I remembered a rule I made when I was younger, ensuring that I didn't fall behind in school: if depressed do homework.

For the next few hours that was all I did. I had tried to do it when I was with Lucas, and he generally copied me or I copied him, but much of it was left unfinished. It actually became quite a productive few hours. I thought about taking out Jamie's old guitar again but then I heard the door open so that meant Steph was home and she would know what to do. I ran down the stairs two at a time and almost bumped into Steph who was just about to come up them.

"Hey," I said breathlessly. "I need some help."

"Sure kid." She laughed as she indicated for me to walk up the stairs so she could follow. I waited outside Jamie's room while she dropped her things in there and then with some strange reserve of enthusiasm, bounded into my room.

Steph got straight to the point. "What's wrong?"

"Well," I began, "I have this friend, and we had an argument this morning, but I haven't heard from them, and I don't want to text them because then he'll think I'm desperate and have no friends, which I don't really apart from him, but I'm getting better."

"This is the boy who has been coming over, correct?" Steph confirmed. Oops, I had tried so hard not to let that slip, but it seemed that secret was out now.

I blushed and responded with a small, "Yes."

"Text him. Go on, you know he's waiting for you to text him first," said Steph handing me my phone that was lying next to me on my bed. She knew I never would have done it on my own. Reluctantly, I accepted it and opened a blank text message.

_I'm sorry. _

The nervous wait for a few seconds felt like hours, but in reality, it only took a few minutes for it to buzz in my hand and a new message icon appeared. At first I thought I had imagined the icon I had been wishing to see the whole day but it didn't disappear after I blinked so it must be real. My thumb hovered above the open button but I didn't press down.

"Go on." encouraged Steph nudging the phone. I opened the message while holding held breath.

It read: _Me too. Is it okay for me to come over?_

Steph had leaned over my shoulder to read the message. "See I told you," she said.

I looked over my shoulder at her with an emerging smile on my face and she grinned back. Nudging me with her shoulder, she winked and left the room to leave me to read the message over and over again in happiness.

"Don't forget to reply with yes," Steph called from just outside the door.

How silly of me.


	9. Misunderstandings

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

Misunderstandings

"Hey," I greeted Lucas as I met him at the door, "Come in."

He didn't say anything except smile as he walked past me, but that meant things weren't back to normal. Usually he'd have something to show me and start talking straight away. I spent longer than necessary closing the door to prolong facing the problem, but when I turned around, Lucas was still there, standing in the hallway awkwardly. Hallways were always the most awkward rooms in the house because people were usually suspended in them until they decided on a concrete location.

"Hi Lucas, nice to see you again. Would you like anything to drink?" My mum interrupted the awkward moment when neither of us knew what to say. I would have been thankful if she hadn't gone on to say, "Poppy has been moping around without you here. I knew you'd get over your little lovers' quarrel." She laughed unashamedly before disappearing into the back of the house when I exclaimed her name. I could tell my cheeks were flushed red as I ran up the stairs quickly, still trying to avoid Lucas' gaze.

"So you've been moping while I haven't been here then?" he teased as we reached my room. "Missed me that much?"

"No." I lied as I busied myself clearing space for both of us to sit.

"Really?" he pressed. In the short while I'd known Lucas he had been able to discern when I was lying with alarming precision. He had somehow learnt to read me. It was odd really, I'd never really had someone understand me that well, nor even try to. It seemed unreal that I would meet someone who was so similar to me in the first place, but I suppose that was what helped him to empathise.

"Uh-" I stuttered, not wanting to admit my dependency on person in such a short space of time.

"Poppy." he sighed, coming up behind me and putting a hand on my arm to turn me to face him. "You don't have to keep hiding all the time you know. Just be yourself. That's all you ever have to be. All these things-" He gestured to the cosmetics Steph had left in my room. "-are not you. They are just superficial. The real you is on the inside. I just want you to know that." He stared in my eyes intently, trying to indoctrinate his message.

"Luc, I know you're trying to help. But I've tried it before. I'm not pretty. I'm never going to be accepted into society if I don't wear makeup and try to act pretty. It's all about confidence really, so looks don't really matter. I know what I'm doing." My tone was reasonable and I tried not to let my voice break.

"Do you really?" he challenged, "Because you seemed to be doing a pretty job of copying everyone else today. When was the last time you drew yourself, as you are, instead of drawing someone else? You've even stopped doing that lately. You're trying to please everyone by turning into them, you're not being Poppy at all." He shouted the last bit, and I was sure he would explode soon from anger. His fists were tensed and his whole body was shaking slightly.

It wasn't fair of Lucas to take his anger out on me. All I was trying to do was fit in. Nothing else. I'd listened to the book; sure I didn't like the way I looked, but I was being confident, I spoke to loads of people today.

I voiced my opinions as such and instead of calming Lucas, it angered him further. "Poppy, you've completely misunderstood. Why are you being so stupid? It's not about having confidence by talking to people, it's about having confidence in the way you look. You will only become pretty when you yourself believe you are Poppy. It won't work any other way." I hated the patronising way he said my name. What did he mean? Did he not think I was pretty in the first place?

"You don't think I'm pretty," I choked. The one person who I relied on not to judge me based on my looks. "So you're just like all the rest of them. I'll never be accepted by anyone." It hit me harder than it should, Lucas didn't think I was pretty. All the work that Steph had done was useless, I'd never be pretty enough for everyone. That's what Lucas must have meant when he said makeup was only skin deep. It didn't actually make me pretty at all. If I wasn't pretty then I couldn't popular, and then I would never get a boyfriend. Well done for failing at life Poppy.

"No- That's not what I meant, Poppy listen to me-"

"No. You were the one proper friend I had and it turns out you weren't even that." I had openly started crying and turned around to try and hide my tears. I pulled away when Lucas tried to turn me around again and hoarsely said, "If you can't like me then Tom will never even look at me." I felt him distance himself and I instinctively turned around to be nearer to him.

"Tom." He spat his name out like it tasted foul. "As in the jerk that likes to ruin girls' lives? What has he got to do with anything?" One look at my panic stricken face told him all he needed to know. "You like him. You actually like him." The first time he said it he sounded disgusted, but the second time was just emotionless. "Whatever." He shook his head and left, storming down the stairs and politely declining an invitation to stay from my mum. I sunk down onto my bed, unbelieving what had happened. I thought he had come to make up, and instead he had crushed me further than I had been just after The Incident.

I buried my head in my pillow trying to stifle my sobs. It wasn't fair, I thought I was happy, and then it turned out everything I believed in was fake.

"Poppy?" Steph's soft voice came from around the door. "Are you okay?"

I kept my face buried in the pillow for a few more seconds before looking at Steph with my tear filled eyes and croaking, "No. Lucas doesn't think I'm pretty either." I hid my head again, not having the energy to keep myself up. Steph must think I'm a right loser if I turn to hysterics just by having an argument with my friend. At that thought I felt even more alone than ever.

Suddenly there was a hand rubbing smooth circles on to my back and Steph whispered soothingly, "Don't worry honey, it's just an argument, you'll make up eventually, don't worry." I wanted to protest that it wasn't just an argument, that my world had suddenly fallen apart, that I would never be accepted in society looking the way I do, but instead I let Steph calm me down until I could sit up properly and the tears didn't fall any more.

When Steph thought I had finally relaxed enough, she started with the one thing I didn't want to hear. "I know you don't want me to say this, but Lucas is right. It's not just about being a confident person, it's about being confident in the way you look. Believing you are pretty, that's all it is really. Only you have the power to make yourself pretty or not. Poppy you are really pretty." Steph gave me a small smile while staring at me intently, similar to how Lucas did earlier. The thought of Lucas made me start crying all over again, but Steph brushed the tears away with a tissue. "Come on." She pulled me up and tugged me gently into the bathroom.

After having a shower and washing my hair, Steph sat me down in front of the mirror again. It seemed like we were back where we started when Steph had just arrived. "I want to you look in the mirror and tell me five things you like about yourself," she instructed.

I analysed myself in the mirror carefully taking in the cute curly bob and the green tint in my eyes. As I followed the curve of my fairly full lips I smiled slightly, making my face seem brighter. All those beauty products actually seemed to be helping me as most of my spots had faded and my skin tone was more even. I could even appreciate my figure more. Sure, most guys liked stick thin girls, but there was nothing wrong with being curvy. Okay, I was still a little large, but I could accept that. It wouldn't be healthy to eat celery sticks all day.

But I couldn't say all that aloud. "Steph," I turned to face her. "I can't do this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't say all this stuff, I can't say I'm pretty out loud."

"Can you say it in your head?"

I am pretty. I am confident.

I nodded slightly.

"Then do that. Just keep it up, and talk to me whenever you want."

After she left I sat in front of the mirror a little while longer. I kept looking and my face didn't change, and I could put all the products I liked on it and it still wouldn't change. What could change was me, Poppy. I was interested in music, drawing, anime and manga and most importantly I was confident and I was pretty.


	10. Beautiful

_**Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to Meg Cabot. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.**_

What Is Beauty?

Weekends were very therapeutic I had decided. I didn't have to wear makeup. I didn't have to pretend to be friends with everyone. I didn't have to act like someone I wasn't. And I didn't have to see Lucas when I couldn't face him. Well the last one had negatives too. Despite trying to tactfully avoid the subject by doing as many chores as possible and all my homework, I desperately wanted to see Lucas again and tell him I was sorry. I had told Steph I could be believe I was pretty, but even though I knew I had misunderstood Lucas, his words still came back to haunt me.

Yet I wanted to talk to him. The illogical wish of wanting to talk to someone who probably didn't want to talk to me again. I had told him my deepest desire, but that wasn't good enough for him. If my deepest desire wasn't good enough for him, then how will I ever be good enough for him? And Tom. I flushed in embarrassment at how that scene went. It couldn't have gone worse. I didn't necessarily think Tom was better than Lucas, it was just he had held a place in my heart for longer and somehow I just couldn't relinquish the place he held.

I thought about how Lucas regarded him: a jerk, who broke girls' hearts. Yes, he had a reputation for being a player but somehow his looks and a simple smile could win me over just like that. Maybe that's what it was for; to win me over, not in a gesture of friendliness at all. Now I really had to ring Lucas and apologise. For being wrong; about everything. I always got everything wrong; I needed another sticker on my forehead: Poppy Lake – the one who gets everything wrong. It would fit well with the-most-unpopular-in-the-school. Maybe my only achievement would be having a long title.

Poppy, stop it. This whole thing is about being confident in yourself, and it's never going to work with you putting yourself down. And talking to myself isn't going to make me sane either.

I threw myself on to the bed and stared at the uneven swirls plastered on to the ceiling. Everything was so samey and boring. Nothing was special anymore. Every house on our street looked the same: smart semidetached buildings with manicured lawns, in the family part of town nobody came into. The shops sold the same flimsy, tight unflattering clothes that I never could pull off. Even everybody at school looked the same, heavy eyeliner, dyed blond hair with grown out roots showing and that horrible orange skin. Whatever this new ideal of beauty was, it no longer seemed attractive.

I no longer knew what beauty meant to me. I hated society's version, but I didn't like myself. It seemed childhood years of playing with Barbies had indoctrinated me into a socially acceptable ideal of beauty.

"Steph?" I called out as I heard footsteps passing in the hallway. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure thing." She came and sat on my bed looking at me worryingly. "What's wrong?"

"What does your perfect girl look like?" It sounded incredibly childish when the words came out of my mouth.

"Poppy," she sighed, and I knew I had said the wrong thing again. Me and my stupid mouth. I should just stop talking. It would probably spare the world and save me a lot of embarrassment.

"Do you want to know what beautiful is? Beautiful is the way his nose is slightly crooked. Beautiful is when the corner of his mouth is turned up in an attempt to not smile. Beautiful is when she turns around and the sun catches strands of her hair. Beautiful comes from inside a person Poppy. Anyone can be beautiful."

Anyone. Did that include me? I guess it did. So I can be beautiful. And that was essentially what Lucas was telling me all along. I really needed to call him. Hopefully it would be less disastrous than last time.

-PPP-

"So you finally realised then?" Lucas asked playing with a couple of strands of hair around my face. He wasn't touching me but my breathing was already getting shallower and I hoped he couldn't tell. He tugged it slightly and whispered, "You know, I like it curly." By this time I think I had stopped breathing. Lucas liked my hair curly. He liked it natural. He liked me. Well that was probably an over exaggeration but it was better than him being angry at me and storming out.

It wasn't just my opinions about myself that were changing, it was also my opinions of others. Despite talking to people during the week, none had made the effort to speak to me outside of school, including Tom. I hadn't even realised he didn't have my number, that was how stupid I was acting. Yes, I still found him attractive, but there was much more suspense and excitement in waiting for a text from someone who actually _had _your number, rather than fantasising about someone looking you up in the address book and then romantically serenading you at twilight.

Lucas was right, he was just a player; he didn't care about me before and he didn't even care when I was dressing up, so what was the point? And I was just using my feelings for him to cover up who I really liked. It had taken a while for me to realise, but I did eventually realise that I liked Lucas. Not in fan girl dizzying way I had liked Tom, but in a way that made me internally smile every time I thought of him. And even though I got upset that he wasn't talking to me it was because I cared about what he thought of me, not some silly obsession.

"Lucas," I murmured, "I really like you." I ducked my head shyly awaiting his response.

He laughed a little before replying, "I know you do. Which is why it's good I do too." Slowly placing his hands on the side of my face, Lucas kissed me gently on the forehead. "But for now, it'll be our secret. You need to build up your confidence first. And then we can date. I'll still be here for you though."

"Wait, what?" I drew away from him, more confused than hurt. If he liked me and I liked him, what was the problem? "Lucas, I don't get you."

He sighed again and looked towards the sky while explaining, "It's not that I don't like you, it's just that I'm the new boy and going out with you… I just want to work hard, get in the good books of the teachers."

I couldn't believe he was saying this to me. I thought I had found happiness but clearly it didn't exist. "Poppy, I'm still here for you. I want you to always know that." I nodded uncertainly and tried to return his weak smile but it was hard to sustain it.

-PPP-

"Steph, I don't understand still. He said he liked me," I complained for the umpteenth time.

"Poppy, there is a difference between liking someone and wanting to be with them. I knew Jason for years before I realised I liked him. You've only known him for a few months, that's not long enough. Waiting will probably be one of the best decisions you'll make. Or it'll just turn into one of those short lived relationships that don't last."

I nodded uncertainly, but there was something about the way he said it that made me feel like he was embarrassed to go out with me.

"Poppy, do you trust yourself?"

Yes? I trusted myself to screw everything up all the time. "What do you mean?"

"Do you trust yourself in that you'll stay amazing and Lucas will come back to you?" Steph clarified.

"It's Lucas' feelings I don't trust." What if he came back and realised he didn't want to be with me anymore? That was highly likely.

"Really? Or is it yourself?"

"Is this one of those things where you tell me to talk to Jen again and tell me to trust myself?"

Steph rolled her eyes and poked me in the arm. "Hey, that worked last time, didn't it? I can't just tell you to trust yourself, that didn't work last time. You have to believe it. Trust that you'll stay amazing and he'll come back to you. If he said he would then believe him."

Steph's advice usually was right and if it didn't work then I'd be that much closer to finding out what he wanted.

It took a lot of courage to say it, but I swallowed and said, "I'll wait then."

I wasn't exactly sure what I was waiting for, but Steph and Lucas seemed to, and friends were for trusting so I trusted them.

I wasn't popular and I didn't have a boyfriend, but I was lucky to have them as friends and that was all I needed right now.

I was Poppy Lake, pretty, confident, with two friends and I no longer cared about being popular.


End file.
